


Closure

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: 25fluffyfics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-25
Updated: 2008-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nobody stole anything, Mikey," Brian said calmly. "Justin's not a Ming vase. He makes his own decisions."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five.  
> Written for LJ's 25FluffyFics community.  
> Prompt 17: Jealousy

The doors opened at six o'clock, so they had planned to get to the gallery by seven. Seven-thirty at the absolute latest.

They found themselves pushing open the glass doors at almost nine o'clock.

Justin hesitated just inside the doorway. While a considerable group of people still ambled among the various displays of art and sculpture, the earlier guests had already laid waste to most of the hors d'oeuvres laid out on the linen-covered tables. The waiters circled with an ever diminishing quantity of champagne flutes, and the little stage where the hired band had played was empty of musicians, not a piccolo or a harpsichord to be seen.

Justin smacked Brian's arm. "We are SO late."

"Excuse me," Brian said. "I believe it was you who pushed me down on the bed when I was trying to get dressed, not the other way around."

"It's still your fault."

Brian raised a brow. "You tackled me, ripped off my pants -- destroying the zipper of a perfectly good pair of Armani slacks, I might add -- straddled me, and then proceeded to ride my cock like you were a jockey at the Derby and the laurel crown was in sight. Please explain… how is this _my_ fault?"

A passing dowager did a double take, peering at them over her half-glasses in shock. Justin pressed his lips together and managed a feeble smile until she passed. Then he nudged Brian. "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" Brian asked, completely ignoring Justin's directive and speaking in a normal tone of voice. "Do we care what some bourgeois society matron thinks of us?"

"I do," Justin hissed. "I might have to sell to one of those 'bourgeois society matrons'."

Brian nodded. "Good point."

"And anyway," Justin continued, keeping his voice low, taking Brian by the arm and dragging him away from the double doors, "it's your fault because if you hadn't kept looking at me when I got out of the shower, I wouldn't have jumped you."

Brian levelled a piercing gaze at him. One of those looks. One of those looks that undressed him, unsettled him, made his toes curl and his nerves tingle in anticipation.

Justin squirmed. "See, you're doing it again."

Brian's tongue found its way to his cheek. He glanced around the room. "We can find a closet."

Justin looked like he might be considering it.

Brian huffed out a laugh and gave him a gentle push on the arm. "Go," he said. "Check out your competition. If you can't find me later, just find the hottest waiter. I'll be with him."

Justin smiled and shook his head as he watched Brian stroll off, snagging a glass of champagne from a wandering server -- and giving him one of _those_ looks in the bargain. He'd long ago learned that those looks were part and parcel of what made Brian Kinney the man he was. Brian could no more resist giving a hot guy the appraising stare, the half-smile, the smouldering look in the eye that promised a future of decadence and abandon -- even if that decadence only lasted the fifteen minutes that you were lucky enough to have him -- than he could resist something much more elemental like breathing.

He watched Brian fade into the lessening crowd until he was lost among the mix of browsing people. Then he walked off in the opposite direction, searching out Karl Guthenberg's work. He found it, finally, in an alcove off the main hall. Apparently Guthenberg's agent had nothing against his own.

The same could not be said of the man's painting. Justin was suitably impressed as he drifted among the watercolours. He'd been standing in front of an abstract for some time when he became aware that someone was standing off to the side, watching him. He turned, expecting to see Brian. Or perhaps the artist himself.

He was mistaken.

"Ethan," he said.

"I've been standing here for five minutes wondering if I should disturb you," Ethan said. "You looked so intent."

Justin shrugged and turned back to the painting. "It's an amazing piece."

"Yours were better."

Justin closed his eyes, bit his lip, took a breath, all before turning back to his former lover. He noticed for the first time the battered violin case in Ethan's hand, the scruffy leather jacket. Apparently the hired band had included a violinist.

"I don't mean to disturb you, but I owe you an apology," Ethan said. "I didn't have time -- or rather," he amended, with a wry smile, "the last time we saw each other I was too busy dodging rose petals to express myself properly."

"It was a long time ago," Justin said, even though the memories were sometimes still fresh and painful. "You don't have to--"

"Yes, I do," Ethan said fervently. "I ruined something wonderful through my own impetuousness. I knew what I had in you, and I went ahead and fed my basest instincts instead of appreciating it."

Justin shook his head. "You didn't ruin it," he said. "You only hastened its already imminent collapse."

Ethan nodded. "I heard you went back to Brian," he said. "My little IFA clique couldn't wait to tell me the news. They gathered around like vultures waiting for my collapse so they could pick at my corpse."

Justin smiled, remembering the self-important crowd that Ethan had hung around with, and thought the description particularly apt. Still. "They weren't that bad," he offered.

"They were worse," Ethan said. "Anyway, I'm not surprised."

Justin cocked his head. "By them or by me?"

"Both," Ethan said. He fiddled with the clasp on his violin case, a habit Justin had never noticed in the past. He glanced around the busy room. "Is he here?"

Justin scanned the crowd, finally spotting Brian's tall figure in a huddle with a short bald man and an impeccably dressed woman who looked to be horning in on the discussion. He pointed. "There," he said. "Deep in conversation with Curtis Schonfeld."

"Oh, I love his work."

Justin turned back. "Brian's real passion is photography."

"Again, I'm not surprised," Ethan said. "He has a real eye for beautiful things."

Justin pressed his lips together. "Ethan," he warned.

Ethan held up his hands. "I'm sorry. Once a charmer--"

"Ethan," Brian's voice said from behind them. Justin looked up in time to see Brian school his face into a mask of rapt captivation, the insincerity oozing from his pores. He stepped smoothly toward Justin, tipping his wine glass at the interloper. "What a surprise."

"Ethan," Justin said, "you remember Brian."

"Of course," Ethan said easily. "Brian, you're looking--"

"Fabulous?" Brian filled in.

"I was going to say 'older'," Ethan said.

Brian grinned, shark-like. "What brings you to… someplace that's not a street corner where you're begging for change?"

Justin cleared his throat. "Brian--"

"It's all right, Justin," Ethan interrupted. "I just stopped by to give Justin a message I've owed him for a long time." He stepped back, inclining his head. "I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the show."

Brian watched speculatively as Ethan vanished into the crowd. "Is it me," he said, "or did the fiddler grow a pair?"

"He was always all right," Justin said. He leaned into Brian's arm. "For a pompous, egotistical little twit."

* * *

The following Tuesday, Justin was halfway through the third episode of _The Tudors_ when the phone rang. Distracted, he fumbled for the phone, putting the DVD on pause before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I hope you don't mind that I'm calling."

Justin lifted the receiver from his ear and looked at the call display. It told him nothing. But he recognized the voice anyway, without needing any other confirmation. "Ethan," he said weakly. "How did you get my number?"

"I charmed it out of Loretta Van Camp. The gallery owner?"

"I know who she is," Justin gritted out. He made a mental note to call and berate her later.

"I happened to notice when I was leaving that Brian had purchased one of the Schonfelds, so I knew she'd have your information on file," Ethan was saying.

The purchase was news to Justin. He kept his mouth shut.

"Anyway," Ethan continued, "I was looking in the paper and saw that there's a new French film playing at the rep. It's been getting really good reviews, so I thought maybe you'd like to go. Strictly as friends," he added quickly.

"I… don't really think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Justin repeated incredulously. "Ethan, you were my… we used to be…"

"Lovers?"

"Yeah," Justin said. "That."

"Used to be," Ethan said. "We're both mature, responsible adults, Justin, and we both know that what's past is past. I know that you're in a committed relationship with Brian, and I respect that. But there's no reason why we can't also remain friends."

"There isn't?" Justin asked dubiously.

"And it will give me a chance to make up for the way I acted."

Justin hesitated. He _had_ been wanting to see the latest Gaspard Ulliel film, and Brian would rather teach abstinence at a catholic girls school than step a single Testoni-clad foot into a run down repertory theatre.

"The truth is," Ethan continued, "I don't have many friends here. Actually, I don't have any friends here. I saw the ad for the movie and I remembered that you enjoyed them when we used to go." He paused. "At least, you said you enjoyed them."

"I did," Justin assured him.

"Well then, I see nothing wrong with two former lovers turned friends taking in a foreign film, or grabbing a cup of coffee, or… whatever."

Justin quickly made up his mind.

"Okay," he said. He smiled. "I'll go."

"Great," Ethan enthused. "Why don't I just meet you at the theatre. Say, at seven?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay! See you then."

After saying good-bye, Justin placed the phone carefully down on the side table. Scratched at his neck. Bit his nail. Stared at the silent unmoving face of Jonathan Rhys Meyers on the television screen and wondered what the hell just happened.

He was still chewing on his thumbnail when Brian came into the room a few minutes later.

"Who was on the phone?" Brian asked.

Justin bit his lip. "I'm going to the movies tonight," he said.

"You finally talked someone into seeing _Saw XII_?" Brian asked. "Thank fucking God. If I had to watch one more person gnaw off his own foot to escape a metal sling--"

"Not that," Justin said. "The new Ulliel movie. At the rep."

"Ah," Brian said. He picked up the remote and glanced at the frozen television screen. "He's hot," he mused. "Are you watching this?"

"I'm going with Ethan," Justin blurted out.

Brian blinked, once, before turning to look at him blankly. "Ethan who?"

"_Ethan_," Justin huffed out. "He's sort of lost touch with his friends and he's basically the person who got me interested in French cinema, and--"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Brian said. He tossed the remote on the sofa. "Have fun."

Justin crossed the distance between them and laid his hands on Brian's chest. "It's completely platonic," he said reassuringly. "I am fully and completely committed to you and he knows that. And I know this is kind of.. weird… but--"

"Like I said," Brian said, "you don't have to explain yourself. I was planning on going through the copy for the new Levis campaign tonight anyway."

Justin hesitated. "I just don't want you to get all freaked out."

He let Brian pull him into an embrace, held his breath as they kissed. Their eyes met and he saw no concern or apprehension in Brian's gaze. He breathed a little easier.

"Have fun," Brian repeated firmly.

* * *

Tuesday night at the movies turned into Friday afternoon for lunch. The following Wednesday the two men met up briefly for coffee in between Justin's meeting with his manager and Ethan's with his agent. They planned to get together the following Saturday for a student play at their old stomping grounds at the Institute.

Justin told Brian about his plans on Saturday morning over breakfast.

Brian looked at him over the top of the morning paper. "We've got lunch at Deb's today," he reminded Justin.

"Shit! I completely forgot."

Brian shrugged and returned to the paper.

Justin crunched through his toast absently, thinking.

"Do you think she'd mind if I skipped it?" Justin finally said.

"What do you think?" Brian asked from behind the paper.

"I think she'll have a raging conniption fit," Justin said glumly. He sighed. "It's just that this is the last performance and it's been getting excellent reviews."

"Where?" Brian asked. "In the PIFA Gazette?"

"Ethan says there's been a couple of big New York producers checking it out," Justin said. "The next time this show is running, we might be paying two hundred bucks a ticket to see it on Broadway!"

Brian sighed. Laid down his paper and folded it beside his plate. Took off his reading glasses. "I'll make your excuses to Deb."

Justin beamed. He put down his toast to lean over the table and give Brian a smacking kiss on the cheek. "You're the best!"

Brian smiled. "I know."

"I don't actually have to leave for another two hours," Justin said. He slid his hand along the lapels of Brian's robe, drawing them apart and exposing the smooth expanse of Brian's chest. "Any ideas of what I can do to fill my time?"

Brian laid his hands on Justin's shoulders and pressed lightly, easing him down onto his knees. "I think I might be able to come up with something," he said.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Brian dropped Justin off at the IFA auditorium before making his way through the streets to Debbie's house. The suburban avenue was already crowded with cars, most of them belonging to his friends.

Predictably, he was the last to arrive. Predictably, it was for the usual reason. Unfortunately, unlike any other typical Saturday visit to Deb's, Brian knew he wasn't going to get any further respite from his own lasciviousness this day. Not without his partner.

Brian let himself in to the house as always, taking in the smell of home cooking filling the air, the raucous noise of his friends. Ben was already setting the table, with Michael looking on. Ted and Emmett sprawled together on the sofa, laughing and chattering over a magazine. Hunter hunched over a hand-held video game, while Carl bustled about in the kitchen. He shut the door quietly and tried to take a seat unobtrusively in the living room, but Debbie nabbed him before he got two feet into the room.

She jabbed a long nail at him. "You're late," she said sternly, before breaking in to a smile. "But we're used to it, aren't we boys?"

Brian considered himself lucky that he didn't get a smack.

Debbie crossed the room to give Brian a big kiss and patted his cheek, then looked around behind him. "Where's Sunshine?"

Brian grimaced, expecting the worst. "He can't make it, Deb."

"Can't make it?" Debbie squealed. "It's the last Saturday of the month! We always get together as a family on the last Saturday of every month! It's tradition!"

"I know," Brian said. "But you see, Deb, he got tickets to a play--"

"What play is more important than getting together with your family one day out of the fucking month?" Debbie protested.

"I'm sure it must have been very important to him," Ben put it smoothly.

"Nothin' is more important than family," Debbie insisted loudly. She turned wide eyes to Brian. "Don't tell me you're going, too? I swear, Brian Kinney, if you turn around and walk out of this house--"

"I'm not going," Brian said quickly. He strolled casually over to the table and picked up a carrot stick. Twirled it in his fingers. "He's going with Ethan."

Conversation stopped.

Ted and Emmett exchanged shocked glances.

Ben looked from Brian to Michael, and back again, before turning his attention to the silverware.

"Ethan!" Debbie squeaked. "Why the hell is he going with Ethan?"

Brian shrugged. "They're friends."

"Friends!" Michael exclaimed. "That little punk stole him away from you--"

"Nobody stole anything, Mikey," Brian said calmly. "Justin's not a Ming vase. He makes his own decisions."

"But--" Michael protested.

"Brian's right," Debbie said. "Besides, it's just like Sunshine to remain friends with one of his exes. Why, your Uncle Vic was the same way. Remember? Diego used to come by every Thanksgiving for years after he and Vic broke up."

"Yeah, and then he ran off to Vienna with Uncle Vic's new boyfriend Sam!"

"Oh yeah," Deb said, frowning. "Well, maybe that's not the best example…"

Michael grabbed Brian by the arm and pulled him through the kitchen and into the back yard. He hugged his arms against his chest and shook his head at his best friend. "Are you crazy?" he hissed.

"I don't think so."

"Are you even thinking at all? That smug little asshole is going to play the same games with Justin all over again, and who do you think is going to get hurt? You!"

"It's Justin's choice whom he chooses to spend his time with," Brian said mildly.

"Normally, I would agree with you," Michael said. "But this is different."

Brian pressed his lips together and nodded. "So I should tell Justin that I don't want him spending time with Ethan."

"Yes!"

"And if I can determine who Justin takes to the movies or goes out with for coffee or works out with at the gym, he should be able to do the same for me."

"Well," Michael said slowly, "if it was really important to him and meant a lot to him, then yes."

Brian nodded again. "So if Justin tells me that he doesn't want me to see you anymore, I should agree."

"I didn't say that!" Michael protested.

"What's good for the goose, Mikey--"

"It's a completely different situation," Michael insisted. "You and I were never lovers!"

"Doesn't matter," Brian said. "If it was 'really important' to Justin -- using your criteria set above, of course -- then I would have no choice but to acquiesce."

Michael slumped against the back wall of the house. "This is so fucked up."

"Not really," Brian said. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up, joining Michael against the wall and staring up at the sky. "I love Justin. Justin enjoys spending time with Ethan. And trust is the most important ingredient in any relationship."

Michael watched the smoke rings fly into the air and didn't say a word.

* * *

Brian heard the front door shut sometime after one a.m. He took a breath, then slid a bookmark between the pages of his book before removing his glasses and tucking them into the drawer in the side table. He'd planned to get in an early night, but found himself lounging in bed with the book long after he'd expected to be asleep. He'd never admit that he was waiting up. Never. Even though he couldn't remember a thing from the last one hundred pages he'd read.

"Hey," Justin said when he came quietly into the bedroom a few minutes later. "I didn't think you'd still be up."

Brian indicated the book with a wave of his hand. "Awake," he said, "but not necessarily _up_. How was your play?"

"Great!" Justin enthused. "It really made me think."

"Hmm," Brian murmured. "Debbie missed you."

Justin winced. "I hope she wasn't too pissed."

"She threatened to remove your balls with her nail clippers the next time she sees you," Brian said, "but other than that, she was all right."

"Good to know I'm not in any danger, then," Justin said. He toed off his shoes and removed his shirt. "I'm sorry I'm so late."

"Waited around for the reviews to come in?" Brian joked.

Justin smiled. "A couple of us went over to that café on Lexington," he explained, "and had dinner. Then we just sat around drinking coffee and talking, and before I knew it they were putting the chairs up on the tables. I actually… kind of liked it."

Brian raised a brow. "Mister Antisocial?"

"I know!" Justin laughed. "Believe me, I'm shocked myself." He tugged down his jeans and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his socks. "I know you expected me home early. I hope you weren't bored without me."

"Not at all. We went to Woody's, where I kicked everyone's ass in pool and then got a very lacklustre blowjob from the new guy with the teeth," Brian said.

Justin made a face in acknowledgement. Woody's latest bartender -- Mark or Mack or something like that -- was doomed to be forever known as the new guy with the teeth. Justin was tempted to clandestinely start an Orthodenture Fund for the poor guy.

"Then I came home," Brian continued, "where I worked out for an hour, did laundry, and organized my sock drawer, before finally heading to bed with a good book. It was a very exciting evening."

Justin cocked his head, frowning. "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

You're not… jealous, are you?"

"I have no reason to be jealous."

"I know, but--"

"Just because you were once lured away by false promises, caterwauling, and dark chocolate, only to be lied to, cheated on, and have your heart broken before finally realizing what was important in your life and returning to it," Brian said, "doesn't mean that it will happen again."

Justin grinned and nodded slowly. "Just so long as you're not jealous."

"I told you once. I don't do jealous."

"Yeah, I remember how that turned out," Justin said. He pulled back the covers and climbed in beside Brian, rolling on to his side and curling in to his long, lean body. "Just remember," he said, "I also told you once that there would never be violin music in my life again. I meant it then and I mean it now. Ethan and I are just friends."

Brian rolled over onto his own side, ran his fingers down Justin's cheek. "I know," he said. He leaned in to kiss Justin's lips, savouring the sweet taste that he knew so well. "I trust you."

When they turned the lights out an hour later, sated, Justin fell immediately to sleep. And Brian lay in the dark for a long time, just listening to him breathe.

* * *

Justin and Ethan met up again the following week for lunch. They lingered over their coffee, chatting.

"So you'd really never seen any of those people from school until last week?" Ethan asked.

"I told you," Justin said. "I didn't have any friends at the IFA."

"Lies!" Ethan laughed. "I really thought you had more integrity than to blatantly spill untruths all over this table."

"No," Justin insisted. "Really. You were it."

"What about that girl… Margaret something. You used to see her all the time."

"Only because she had the cheapest weed!" Justin said.

Ethan shook his head. "Okay," he said. "I've got one. Martin Lowe. Tall, blond, lithe swimmers build. Always wore work boots. Very hot. You used to talk to him all the time."

"Oh yeah," Justin said, remembering. "I haven't thought of him in a long time. He was the only guy I knew outside of Michael Novotny who was into comic books. I used to bounce ideas for Rage off him all the time."

"Really? Why didn't you just ask me?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "I was writing a comic book about my ex-lover as a superhero and his romance with a young, blond boy who'd been bashed. I thought discussing that with my new lover might be a tad inappropriate."

Ethan inclined his head. "True," he admitted. He grinned wistfully. "Wow, I used to be sooo jealous of that Martin Lowe."

Justin blinked. "Why?"

"Are you kidding?" Ethan said. "I'd come out of the music room and see my hot new boyfriend deep in conversation with one of the cutest guy on campus, heads bent together, foreheads almost touching. I used to duck back into the doorway and wait until you two finally moved away."

"Martin Lowe," Justin said firmly, "was not only the hottest guy on campus, he was the straightest."

"I found that out later when he got Deborah Masengale pregnant."

"He got Deborah Masengale pregnant?" Justin boggled.

"Wow, you really didn't keep up with campus life," Ethan mused. "Anyway, I found out later that he was straight. But for a few weeks I was seething. I was so afraid that you were going to leave me. Which," he grinned, "actually turned out to be the case, so I guess my paranoia wasn't altogether misplaced."

Justin studied the coffee rings on the table.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't even bring that up. I--"

"No, it's all right," Justin said. He looked up to meet Ethan's gaze. "You know, for a long time I blamed you for everything that went wrong. You lied to me, you cheated, you wanted me to hide who I am--"

"Yes, I suck monkey ass," Ethan said. "Can we move on?"

"The thing is," Justin said, "I was using you. And I've never apologized for that."

"Justin--" Ethan began.

"I thought I loved you," Justin said, "because you said the things I wanted to hear and you were romantic and you treated me like someone special. I only realized later that it didn't matter how many songs you dedicated to me or what kind of ring you put on my finger. Because I was never running _to_ you. I was running away _from_ Brian."

"They were six great months, whatever the reason they came about," Ethan said. "You never have to apologize for them." He laid his hand on Justin's gently. "And I'm sincerely happy that you found your way back to Brian again."

"He never gave up on me," Justin said. "He continued paying my tuition, you know. I don't think I ever told you that."

"No," Ethan said slowly. "I thought it was your dad."

Justin made a face. "My dad would never pay for my tuition. Have me arrested, yes. Pay for my schooling? A big no." He waved off Ethan's inquisitive gaze. "Long story. Anyway, Brian's always been the one. From the first time I met him, under a streetlight, when I was seventeen and scared shitless. Sometimes he drives me crazy and he makes me want to tear my hair out, but he loves me unconditionally and no one else even has a chance."

Ethan rested his chin in his hand. "I hope I find what you have someday."

Justin smiled confidently. "You will."

* * *

Half an hour later, Justin strolled into the offices of Kinnetik. He breezed his way past the feeble protests of the receptionist and stuck his head into Cynthia's office.

"Is he free?" he asked.

Cynthia shuffled the phone to her other ear and put her palm over the receiver. "Client from Japan," she mouthed. "Sexist pig."

Justin arched a brow.

Cynthia lifted the phone away from her ear, keeping her hand firmly over the mouthpiece. "He's free," she murmured, "and letting me deal with this bozo. Do me a favour and skewer him with his paper holder after your hello kiss."

Justin smiled his thanks, leaving Cynthia rolling her eyes and still attempting to get a word in edgewise with the client.

He found Brian with his feet up on his desk, staring into space.

"Hard at work, I see," Justin said as he made his way into the office.

"Ninety percent of ad work is the _creativity_," he said. "Coming up with the perfect advertisement that's going to get the bullshit bits and pieces that nobody needs flying off the shelves and, subsequently, fill up the bank coffers of the little agency that could." He tapped the side of his head. "I'm thinking."

"Gee, I wouldn't know a thing about creativity," Justin said. He pushed Brian's legs off the desk so he could climb into his lap.

"Did you have oysters for lunch?"

"No," Justin laughed. "I just realized that… I love you."

"You _just_ realized that?"

"I just realized how much," Justin amended. He smiled and tucked his hands behind Brian's neck, ruffled the hair there and made a mess of Brian's perfectly coiffed appearance. "I just realized that I would do anything, say anything, be anything… to be with you. The man I love. The man I want to marry. The man I will spend the rest of my life with."

Brian blinked. "We can be in Canada in two hours."

And Justin laughed. "Let's do it up right. Invitations and a ballroom and a party that lasts three fucking days."

"A party that lasts our whole lives," Brian said softly.

Justin leaned in to find his mouth, kissing him gently. "Cynthia says I'm supposed to skewer you with your paper opener or something when we're done kissing," he murmured.

"Well then," Brian said, "I guess we'd better make this one last."


End file.
